Sweet Caroline
by Lenny Carter
Summary: With nothing to lose, Caroline Beauregard followed the Beatle's across England after accepting a "ticket to ride" from a lovestruck John Lennon. But now this short journey will turn into a life-long one as the five form a bond that will never break. RXR!
1. I've Just Seen a Face

**I've Just Seen a Face (Other Girls Were Never Quite Like This)**

July 23, 1964  
London

John Lennon never planned on falling in love that night.

Paul had decided he wanted to go to a club to find some cute birds, and so the four Beatles, crawling past Brian's door and giggling like children, snuck out of the hotel and into the damp streets of London.

The club was crowded and jumping with young people; young men drowning themselves in liquid courage and looking for young girls to use it on. The band split into pairs; John and Paul off to scour one side of the club, and Ringo and George to scour the other. Paul always grabbed charismatic John to be his wingman, as he was practically a bird magnet. The two hadn't been sitting for more than five seconds before they were surrounded by women; giggly, flirty, sweet-smelling women. John thought Paul might wet himself with excitement.

John had been whispering something naughty into a petite blonde's ear when he saw Paul stand up and grab the hand of a tall, slim girl. She smiled slyly at Paul as he charmed her with his silver tongue, leading her over to the table. He said something clever to make her laugh, looking quite pleased with himself for reeling in such a catch. "Can I get you something to drink? An Alcopop? A Coke-a-rama?"

The girl chuckled, placing her hand on Paul's elbow. "A beer will do, ta," she replied sweetly, grinning at the singer.

Paul looked surprised, but enthusiastic. "Waiter! Get the lady your best bitter!"

John eyed the girl up, his head cocked to one side with interest. Her hair was a marvelous shade of red, falling just above her shoulders in thick, soft looking curls. Sea foam green eyes appraised Paul with interest as he began telling some sort of story, using avid hand motions. John licked his teeth jealously. Paul always got the best girls with his big brown eyes and charming smile. He got to have a slice of sweet red velvet cake while John was stuck with a blonde tart.

"Are you listening?" a shrill voice asked John impatiently.

He sighed. Speaking of tarts.

"So, what's your name?" he heard Paul ask as the waiter handed the girl a bottle of beer.

"Caroline," she said. "Caroline Beauregard."

"That's an interesting name," John jumped in casually, putting his elbows on the table. He felt Paul glare at him, threatening John with eyes that said "_Back off, mate, I saw her first._"

John batted his eyelashes at Paul. "_C'mon, let me have this one, son. Take mine._"

"Trade you," John whispered to Paul, gesturing to the blonde who was now pouting next to John.

"Ha. You're a funny one, Lennon," Paul hissed back sarcastically. John smirked at him.

"I'm John," he said smoothly to Caroline, reaching out to take her hand. He ignored the sharp kick Paul sent to his ankle. "John Lennon. This here is Paul McCartney."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you both," Caroline laughed, shaking John's hand.

"The pleasure's all mine," John drawled.

"Would you like to dance?" the blonde asked from John's left. He waved her off.

"In a minute."

The blonde stood up sharply, rattling the edge of the table. John chose to ignore her. "I should've figured that a _Beatle_ wouldn't want anything more than a shag!"

The three watched her strut away with quick, irritated steps, disappearing into the crowd. "Well, John, you certainly have a way with the ladies," Paul smirked, leaning back in his chair coolly.

"Did she say 'Beatle?'" Caroline asked slowly, turning back to the pair. Her brow furrowed. "You--you're the Beatles?"

"The ones and only," John replied, taking a swig of his beer.

"Well, stone the crows," Caroline chuckled, sitting back with a huge smile on her face. "I thought your voices were familiar. Don't own a television, though, had no idea what you looked like. Or your names."

"Better you didn't know," was Paul's opinion. "It's easier to dance with a girl when she's not acting like a nit, gushing over you and everything."

"Speaking of which," John said slowly, standing to his feet. He saw Paul begin to open his mouth in protest, but even the bass player knew he would lose the battle with John. "Caroline, would you like to dance?"

Somewhere between his fourth beer and the way Caroline felt, swaying beneath his hands, John had decided it was about time he took her back to the hotel. She was refreshingly fun; not needy, not too talkative, with a fantastic biting wit that rivaled John's.

John had always liked red velvet cake.

But John had his rules when it came to sleeping with girls; one, he did his best to avoid their names. It made him feel like less of an arse when he forgot. Two, no kissing on the mouth. Too personal. Three and four were one in the same; don't fall asleep, and kick the girl out when the deed was done. It saved him from post-coital 'cuddling' and the awkward morning after conversation.

It was too late to not learn Caroline's name, but John hoped he wouldn't forget it, as he had never met a girl quite like her and therefore resolved to treat her a little better. And what was a tiny smooch in the heat of the moment? Her lips were soft and practically begging him to kiss them. This rule-breaking didn't alarm John. He could be lenient every once in a while, couldn't he?

It was rules three and four that caused the whole thing. John didn't know what it was; Caroline's hands running over his bare back, the way she was kissing him, or the thing she did with her hips right when he was about to finish, but John found himself so satisfied and tired that he couldn't do anything except lay down, panting and sweaty and content, and fall asleep beside the redhead.

John had not invented rules three and four just to avoid awkwardness. He had created them to avoid his own habit of becoming dangerously affectionate towards women he picked up in clubs.

And so he may not have planned it, but that night was the night John Lennon fell in love.

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It's much shorter than I anticipated, but it's also 1:52 am at the moment and I've finally found a good ending place, so there you have it! Please review!

~C.


	2. Ticket To Ride

I just wanted to start this chapter off by saying thank you so much for reading! Only three days up and this story's already received nearly 50 hits! I know it doesn't seem like much, but I was impressed it attracted so much attention with such a vague summary and short chapter. (The chapter's will be characteristically short, but it suits the way the story moves.) Thank you so much for your support, and please review!

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**Ticket To Ride (The Girl That's Driving Me Mad)**

July 24, 1964  
London

Caroline moaned softly as she blinked her eyes open, cringing as the white sun flooded her vision. This was definitely not the cramped flat she currently lived in, right in the center of Cheapside, London; for one, her bedroom had no windows. And two, her bedroom smelled ten times worse. _Where am I? What in the hell happened last night?_

She felt something move by her waist and realized that it was hand, holding her hip. And connected to that hand was the arm of a very handsome man who's name she couldn't seem to remember. _James? Jude?_

The man murmured in his sleep and pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair as though she were his personal, life-size teddy bear.

_"I'm John. John Lennon."_

John Lennon. That was right. John Lennon, the famous Beatle. Caroline smiled. _I could've done worse. _He certainly was fetching, with his strong nose and mischievous eyes. Caroline closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She should probably get her clothes gathered up before he woke up and kicked her out.

She looked over at him again, watching his eyes move beneath their lids. His shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath. He seemed to be pretty deep in his slumber. Caroline relaxed and scooted closer to him. Maybe another ten minutes wouldn't hurt.

* * *

"I hate to sound rude, but I kind of expected you to be gone."

Caroline sat up, rubbing her eye. _Bloody hell_. She must've fallen back asleep, and now she was forced to deal with an awkward "morning-after." She sighed. She hated morning-afters. "I'm sorry," she said, glancing up at John nervously. He stood a short distance away from the foot of the bed, wearing only a pair of slacks and thick-rimmed black glasses. His hair was still sticking up here and there. He had one fist on his hip and was staring at Caroline. "I'm sorry," she said again. She wrapped the bed sheets around herself and stood up, running her fingers through her tangled hair and looking around for her clothes. _Fan-bleeding-tastic._

"Don't--" John began as she reached down to pick up her underwear. Caroline looked at him. "I mean, you don't have to leave so fast, you know. It wasn't an order, just an observation."

"I really oughta get going anyway," Caroline said quickly, picking up her discarded dress and hugging it close. "I'm sure you've got places to go and...concerts to play, and whatnot."

"I've got time for room service," John offered as Caroline shuffled past him towards the bathroom. "I can get you something to eat for breakfast before you go."

"Thank you, but it's really okay. I'll just get dressed and be on my way. I've gotta get going." Caroline thought she saw a slight look of hurt cross John face, but when she tried to look again, he had already turned away. She watched him for a second before she closed the bathroom door to get dressed.

* * *

John tried to look preoccupied as the bathroom door shut, pretending to clean his glasses. _Quit moping around because the girl you picked up wants nothing more than to leave. _John glanced up to the bathroom door, where he could hear the sink running. _This_ was why Rules Three and Four were invented. Because at the moment, John wanted to do nothing more than run into that bathroom and ask Caroline to stay, even for just one more hour.

A sudden banging came from the door."Oy, Johnny, open up!" Paul was shouting through the door. "We gotta check out in an hour! Brian's gonna get all narky if he has to pay another one of those fees."

"Brian's always narky," John replied as he opened the door. "What're you doin' here?"

"Brian sent me," Paul explained, looking sour. "I had to bunk with him last night since you had that cute little bird with you. He sent me over. He thinks that you listen to me."

"He's a funny little poof, iin't he?" John grinned.

Paul looked John up and down, from his slacks, pulled on haphazardly, to his thick rimmed glasses. "Did you just wake up?" he asked. A large smile broke out across his face. "That Caroline bird tired you out, did she? You lucky bastard. I should've fought you for--"

"_Shhh!_" John hissed, clamping his hand over Paul's mouth. He glanced over his shoulder, stepping out into the hallway. "She's still here," he whispered, pulling the door closed until only a crack was left.

Paul blinked. "Still here? What's she still doin' here?"

"I can't get rid of her. I think she's in the bath."

"Well, John, if she's refusing to leave, then just call the hotel security and tell them a rabid fan is--"

"No, no, it's not that, Macca," John interrupted. "I can't make myself get rid of her."

Paul sighed, running his fingers through his choppy brown hair and giving his friend an exasperated look. "Lennon, I told you dozens of times that you don't let them stay the night, because this is exactly what happens. You get that romantic side of your brain running and then--"

"But Paul! Paul, she was like a dream in bed, let me tell you. And she was _fun_ last night. She's smart. Other girls aren't like this."

"That's where you're wrong, Johnny," Paul said, grabbing John's shoudlers and staring him in the eye. "They. Are. All. The. Same. How can I get that through your head? This girl is no different than the one you picked up night before last, or the girl before that."

The two suddenly heard a giggle from down the hallway. They looked over in unison to see a pair of teenage girls pointing and giggling at John, who was half undressed. "Oh, come on!" John hissed, grabbing Paul by the collar of his shirt and pulling him inside the room.

"Well, hello, Paul. Nice to see you again."

The pair whirled around to see Caroline standing in the doorway to the bathroom, fully dressed. She grinned widely. Paul chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck shyly. "Nice to see you too, Caroline."

As Caroline crossed the room to bend over and pick up her clothes, John couldn't help but to crane his head to gaze at her backside. He looked up to see that Paul was doing the exact same thing, biting his lip appreciatively. John quickly clouted him across the ear, sending him a silent glare. Now it was his turn to say, "_Back off, mate, I saw her first._" The guitarist grabbed a black shirt hurriedly off the floor and pulled it over his head, nearly knocking his glasses off of his nose. "Hallway, now," he snapped, grabbing Paul's arm and dragging him across the room towards the door.

"Bye, Caroline!" Paul yelled over his shoulder as John pulled him along.

"Bye, Paul," Caroline called as the door shut.

"I don't know what to do, Macca," John whispered when they were safely out of earshot, pulling his shirt down fussily. "I want her to stay. Maybe I could pay her."

"There's the way to a woman's heart," Paul said wryly. "Making her feel like a prostitute."

"Ah, but it _is _the way, son." John stuck a finger in the air decisively, suddenly feeling much more confident. "Bribery is the courtship of the modern world. She already told me last night she's only in London for a few days and then she's going to Blackpool."

"What's your angle, Johnny?"

"My angle is that _we're _heading to Blackpool! I could tell her that she could ride with us. And we'll be there in what, two days?"

"Plenty of time to shag her again and get her out of your system," Paul concluded, seeing the meaning behind John's plan. He glanced down at his watch. "Alright, well, whatever you decide to do, get it done and get packed up by the hour. I don't want Brian riding me arse because you've got _girl trouble_."

"I'm sure he'd love to ride your arse anyway," John grinned smugly, stepping back into his hotel room.

"Piss off," was Paul's only reply before John shut the door in his face.

Before John could even turn around, Caroline was there, trying to get past him. "Thanks for the good time, John Lennon," she was saying, reaching for the door handle_. _"Good luck with your music and everything--"

"Hey, hey, not so fast," John said quickly, putting his hand on the door and forcing it shut. Caroline stepped backwards, her fingers still around the door handle, appraising John suspiciously. "I have a proposition for you."

"What kind?" she asked warily.

"The good kind. You said last night you were on your way to Blackpool, right?"

"Yes...?"

"Well, it just so happens we're doing a show there. Maybe you'd like to ride with us. It's beats the bus, you know, and it's the least I could do, since you wouldn't let me buy you breakfast."

Caroline didn't seem to be buying it. She put a hand on her hip. "I was that good, huh?"

John tried to feign surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"In the sack, John."

John blinked at her for a moment before he grinned. "I forgot you were smarter than the average bird."

"Well, I'm not the average bird. I don't care how famous you are, John Lennon, I'm not so easily won over." Caroline went to pull the door open again, but John shut it again, this time with a little more force. "Give over, already!" Caroline snapped.

"Let me have a chance to win you over, then," John said, peering at her with his hazel eyes. She raised an eyebrow expectantly. "You're right, Caroline Beauregard, you're not the average bird, and that's what interests me. We'll be in Blackpool in two days; in two days, this'll be nothing more than a story to tell to your girlies." Caroline chewed on her lower lip and looked at him for a long moment. "Where else do you have to go?" John asked.

Caroline finally sighed, letting go of the door handle. John grinned, knowing he had won once again. "C'mon, this is a once in a lifetime chance!" he said, making his voice sound like that of a sport's commentator. "A ticket to ride with this season's biggest trendsetters, the Beatles!"

A slow, grudging smile spread across Caroline's face. "Well, alright," she said finally. "It couldn't hurt."

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Chapter Three should be up by the end of the week! Please review (do it for me).

~C.


	3. Boys

**Since I was totally impressed with my fantastic number of reviews (only four, yes, hahaha, shut up), determination drove me to write another chapter! (Thank you, however, to HermioneLennon, for her words of encouragement.)**

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**Boys (Take A Trip Around The World)**

July 25, 1964  
London

"This is _not_ a good idea."

"Well, I already promised her, Brian, we can't just leave her stranded here."

"Then I'll give her money for a bus. We _cannot_ have a woman traveling with us. You know what would happen if someone saw her? The papers would go to town! Next thing you know, she's divorcing Paul and marrying George." Brian Epstein went completely pale at the very thought of it. "Oh, God. This is _not _a good idea."

"You've said that already," John said idly from where he was sitting on a couch, reading a magazine with his feet perched up on a coffee table. They four Beatles, plus Brian and Caroline, were sitting in the hotel lobby, waiting for the cab to take them to the train station. Brian was pacing and casting looks at Caroline, who was swallowing nervously.

"Honestly, Lennon, I think you do this just to spite me," Brian groaned, shaking his head.

"Well, why else would I do it?" John smirked, peering at Brian from over the top of his magazine. "Don't be such a whinger, Bri. You're making Caroline feel unwelcome."

"Don't you pull me into this," Caroline warned, bristling defensively. "I didn't even want to come with you."

"If you had stayed with me last night, you wouldn't be in this uncomfortable position," Paul whispered teasingly, winking suggestively. John pursed his lips, tempted to slap the bassist over the head. Caroline grinned at Paul, shrugging nonchalantly.

"I'm afraid I have a soft spot for bad boys."

Paul made a disapproving noise with his teeth, waving her off. "Bah, they always do."

"Focus, gents," Brian said sharply. He turned to Caroline. "I'm sorry, but I'll give you bus fare and--"

"That's a great idea, Brian!" John said suddenly, eyes alight. The other five turned and gave him identical quizzical looks.

"I thought you were the one that didn't want to strand her," George commented sardonically, looking up from where he was reading a magazine.

"No, what Brian said before," John explained, standing up in earnest.

"...'focus, gents?'"

"Exactly! We'll make Caroline a gent, and no one with a camera will care that she's with us. They'll think she's just another manager or something."

"You mean he," Ringo said from where he was drumming his sticks against George's leg.

"He," John concurred. Caroline arched her eyebrows as the five men turned to look at her, picturing it in their minds.

"I personally think this isn't a good idea."

* * *

"Hand me the moustache, Paul."

"Ouch! Be careful, I have feeling in my head, you know."

"I wasn't pulling that hard."

"Would you like a black hat or brown?"

"I think the black would bring out her eyes more."

"Ta-da!" John sang proudly, standing back to let Caroline look at herself in the mirror. The four Beatles had dragged her into the men's bathroom (earning strange looks from the male hotel guests trying to use it) with the brown bag of wigs and moustaches John had bought at the joke shop across the street from the hotel. Caroline now sported a mousy brown mop top wig that closely resembled the hairstyles of the four Beatles, as well as a short brown moustache. John had crammed his black newsboy cap over the wig, and Ringo let her borrow a pair of slacks, a black turtleneck, and a black suit jacket since he was the only one close to her size.

"Not bad," Caroline said, running her finger over the moustache.

"I think she still looks like a girl," Paul said in dismay.

"Not from far away, she won't," John retorted, elbowing Paul in the ribs. "In fact, she looks like George's long lost twin."

"Are you insinuating that I look like a girl?"

"No, just a girly man."

"Well, what are we going to call her? I mean, him?" Ringo asked, looking at Caroline in the mirror.

"What's the male equivalent of Caroline?" John asked.

"Carlos?" George mused.

"No, no, he doesn't look like a Carlos," Paul said.

"I think he looks like a Sid!" Ringo said proudly. The other four looked at him for a long moment before simultaneously saying, "NO." Ringo just scowled at them, crossing his arms to sulk.

"How about Beau?" Paul commented. "Your last name is Beauregard, inn't it? So it'll sound familiar to you. Besides," Paul gestured to the other three Beatles standing around him with his thumb. "We've all got nicknames to go with our last names. It works perfectly!"

"Nice thinking, Macca," John said. He put his hands on Caroline's shoulders and leaned in close, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "You're on your way to becoming a bona fide Bee-attle, you know." He slapped the bill of the black newsboy playfully, chuckling as Caroline grumbled and lifted it off her eyes. "Be careful with that hat; it's one of my favorites. C'mon, lads. We have a train to catch." A mischievous grin crossed his face as he looked back at Caroline, who was still trying to fix the hat without messing up her wig. "I hope you're a fast runner."

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**There you have it! Please please PLEASE send me a review! Your concrit is welcome!**


	4. A Day In The Life

**This wasn't meant to be a long, epic, plot-driven chapter; just a little bit of fun for all the fans of 'A Hard Day's Night,' who I hope will enjoy this next little scene. Thank you, as always, for your immense number of hits and 'silent support,' and a very special thank you to HermioneLennon and ZigZagBaybeh, for there faithful reviews.  
****Enjoy!**

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**A Day In the Life (I Just Had To Laugh)**

July 25, 1964  
London, England

"Sweet Christ on a cracker!" Caroline panted after they had safely boarded the train (if not without a few close calls). Her chest heaved as she made sure her wig was still firmly attached to her head, patting it down meticulously. "Those girls are mad!"

"Just another day in the life," Paul said casually, dusting off the sleeves of his suit jacket. The group filed into an open compartment, throwing their carry-on bags on top of the racks above the seats.

"It's a wonder none of you have been killed yet," Caroline said, scratching at her mop top. "God, this thing is itchy."

"Don't jinx us, then."

The compartment door slid open and Brian stuck his head in, doing a quick head count. "Oh, good. You all made it on alright?"

"No," John replied, staring at him evenly.

Brian blinked. "Oh. Well, I'm off to get some coffee." He handed George a brown bag filled with two doughnuts. "Anyone want some?"

"We'll follow you in half a tick," Paul told him. "We'll just put our things away."

"Right then," Brian said. He looked down at Caroline, who was still scratching at the wig. "You don't look half bad, Caroline."

Caroline gave the manager a serious look. "It's Beau."

"Oh. Right."

Paul snorted as Brian closed the door, standing up to open the latch on the window. "It's a little stuffy in here," he explained. The sounds of the train's rattling wheels and chugging engine and the wind whistling by quickly filled the cabin. Caroline stared out the window as the four Beatles fell into conversation.

The compartment door slid open again, only this time it was a middle aged man wearing a bowler and carrying an umbrella and a briefcase. He looked around at the five young "men" and made no attempt of hiding his displeasure as he realized he wouldn't have the compartment alone. He placed his briefcase and umbrella on the rack, but when he went to stow away his hat, it fell onto the empty seat between Paul and John. John quickly went to pick it up for the man only to have it snatched out of his hands, as though he were about to steal it. He met Caroline's eyes, raising his eyebrow at her as if to say "_Can you believe this sod?_"

The man sat down, unfolding the newspaper he had tucked under his arm and glancing at John, who stared back at him unabashedly, like a curious child. The man put his armrest down with a scowl, as though it might work as some sort of barrier between him and John.

Paul winked at the man cheerfully. "'Lo. Mornin'," he said with a pleasant smile.

The man then looked at Caroline, Ringo, and George who all nodded in polite acknowledgement. "Alright?" Ringo asked sociably, blue eyes friendly. George just took a loud, crunchy bite of the doughnut Brian brought him. The man took another look around before rolling his eyes and sticking his nose in his paper. Ringo tossed George a look, who shrugged and kept munching on his snack.

After a moment, the man stood up and reached over to close the small window, cutting off the supply of cool air circulating through the cabin. A look of disbelief crossed Paul's face. "Whoa," Ringo said.

"You mind if we have it open?" Paul asked, gesturing to the window.

"Yes I do," the man replied, looking surprised that Paul had even dared to ask.

"Yeah, but there are four of us, and we'd like it open. That's if it's all the same to you, that is," John added, batting his eyelashes at the man. The man's lip curled.

"It isn't. I travel on this train regularly--twice a week. So I suppose I have _some _rights."

"So have we," Ringo said tersely. The man glared at him before returning to reading his paper. Ringo pursed his lips and stood to get his portable radio from the storage racks. He sat back down with it happily, nodding his head to the driving rock and roll.

"And we'll have that thing off as well, thank you," the man snapped, reaching over and turning off the radio.

"But--" Ringo spluttered, eyes wide.

"Now, an elementary knowledge of the Railroad Act would tell you that I'm perfectly within my rights."

George fixed his face in a snarl.

"Yeah, but we want to hear it!" Paul cried. "There's more of us than you. We're a community, a majority vote." He put his balled up fist in the air to emphasize his point. "Up the workers and all that stuff."

"Then I suggest you take that damned thing into the corridor," the man said poignantly, "or some other part of the train." He glared at John. "Where you obviously belong."

"Give us a kiss," John simpered, pushing his face towards the man's. Caroline snorted from where she was sitting.

"Look, mister, we paid for our tickets too, you know," she said in a low tone, trying to disguise her voice. The man just turned his nose up at her.

"I travel on this train regularly," he retorted, his voice growing high and haughty. "Twice a week."

"Knock it off, Beau," John said. Caroline looked confused for a minute, forgetting about her pseudonym. "You can't win with his sort. After all, it's his train, iin't mister?"

"And don't take that tone with me, young man," the man said hotly. "I fought the war for your sort."

"I bet you're sorry you won," Ringo said smartly.

"I shall call the guard," the man warned.

"Ah, but what?" Paul asked quickly, putting a finger in the air and squinting one eye. "They don't take kindly to insults, you know. C'mon boys," Paul stood to his feet, grinning to himself. "Let's go have some coffee and leave the kennel to Lassie."

When the five had emptied out into the corridor, John grabbed Caroline and Paul's arms, whispering, "Wait. Let's mess with him." Caroline covered her mouth to stifle her laughter as the four Beatles crouched and climbed over one another until they made a tower of faces.

"HEY MISTER! CAN WE HAVE OUR BALL BACK?!"

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**Thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
(Oh, and if you did, there's a periwinkle box with some pretty green font that's just BEGGING to be clicked.)**


	5. The Night Before

**Hello! Sorry about taking so long to update, but thanks for staying tuned! And a special thanks to HermioneLennon, crazayfunkaymunkay, MissMcFly, and ZigZagBaybeh for their support!**

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**The Night Before (Treat Me Like You Did)**

July 25, 1964  
En route to Birmingham, England

"Cor bloody hell, Macca, get off my damn arm," John grumbled, giving Paul's shoulder a rough shove. Paul sat up in confusion, blinking sleepily. When he saw John's cocked arm, he scowled at him, sitting up in his seat and grumbling to himself.

"Just tryin' to take a little kip," he yawned.

"Yeah, well, you're little kip was makin' me arm fall asleep."

After scaring away the old salt-and-pepper grouch, the four Beatles and their plus one had re-seized the train compartment, making themselves comfortable with Ringo's portable radio and John's acoustic guitar. "Looks like I'm not the only one trying to catch forty winks," Paul commented, gesturing to Caroline, who was fast asleep against George's left shoulder. She had removed her wig in order to get comfortable, and now her red hair tickled his neck. "Think she likes you, George."

A shy blush bloomed over George's cheeks. "Shove off," he replied half-heartedly, unable to hide his small, snaggle-toothed smile. John frowned slightly at the sight of Caroline nestled up against George, but told himself to ignore it, his fingers plucking idly at guitar strings. They sang to him. _Just another bird to shag. Just another bird._

"She is quite the looker," Ringo commented lightly, licking his thumb and forefinger before turning the page of the newspaper that the salt-and-pepper grouch had left behind. He peered at John over the top of the page, blue eyes glinting mischievously. "S'no wonder you forced her to come with us."

John blinked in surprise, opening and closing his mouth uselessly before giving a barking laugh to cover his embarrassment, leaning back coolly in his seat. "I didn't _force _her..."

Ringo didn't look up as he jabbed a thumb in Paul's direction. "Paulie told me."

John gasped, punching Paul's arm roughly. "Macca!" he scolded, hazel eyes full of betrayal.

"What?" Paul bristled indignantly, rubbing his arm. "S'not like you swore me to secrecy. They had a right to know why we went through the trouble of dressing some random bird up in men's clothing so she could travel with us to Blackpool!"

"Deserter," John snapped.

Caroline suddenly gave a small groaning noise, squirming around in her sleep. The four Beatles held their breath momentarily, not wishing to make a noise to wake their female counterpart. After a tense moment Caroline gave a little hum of contentment and buried her face further into George's neck. George just coughed nervously, heat flushing up around his collar.

"I just think it's a little peculiar that you've taken such an attachment to some red-haired bird you picked up in a pub and shagged once," was Ringo's lofty opinion once he was sure Caroline was fast asleep.

"I'm not _attached_," John retorted defensively. "I was bein' nice."

"Even _bein' nice _to a bird is an attachment for you, Lennon," Paul snorted. John punched his arm again. "OW! Knock it off, John."

"It's the truth you know," George said. "I've never seen you with the same bird twice. This whole thing is very..." The guitarist moved his hand in the air for emphasis as he searched for the right word. "...rummy of you."

"Rummy?" John growled. He was _not_ acting any more rummy or strange than usual; who were these sods to care about birds he picked up!?

"He's right, you know," Paul chimed in. "You _have_ been acting rummy. You've never even _dated_ a girl."

"I dated Cynthia!" John attempted in his own defense.

"For like, a month, after you told her to dye her hair blonde so she would look like Brigitte Bardot, and then once you got bored of that little fantasy, you left her."

John's spine went rigid at this and he pointed a finger at Paul warningly. "Watch yourself, Paulie."

"All I'm saying," Paul began evenly, putting a hand on John's shoulder to try and relax the volatile guitarist, "is that Caroline seems like a nice girl, and we all know what you do to nice girls."

"Wham, bam, thank you ma'am," Ringo said gravely, looking at John seriously.

John suddenly stood up from his seat, his guitar falling from his lap to the ground with a loud, hollow wooden sound that echoed and woke Caroline with a start. "Piss off, the lot of you!" he shouted, slamming the compartment door shut with a bang.

There was a moment of silence until Caroline rubbed her eye and yawned, "What's got his knickers in a knot?"

* * *

John rubbed the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of one hand and held a cigarette in the other. He sat at one the tables, which were arranged in two rows on either side of the train alongside the windows, made expressly for drinking tea and coffee and maybe a small snack. The dining car was nearly empty, save for an elderly couple a few tables behind John, and a mother and her infant son two tables ahead of him. Brian liked to keep as many people as possible off of the trains that the Beatles traveled on, in order to reduce the eventuality of being harassed by fans and critics alike. John didn't always think it was completely fair to buy out the entirety of tickets on the train so that they could have some privacy; it made the guitarist feel like a snobby, inconsiderate celebrity.

But sometimes, at moments where John didn't want to face his nitpicking band mates, his fusspot manager, or any frenzied fans, it was nice to have an entire train to escape to.

John rested his head against the window his table was adjacent to, enjoying the small breeze coming in from the open crack of window that ruffled the top of his head. He ground out his cigarette and threw it unceremoniously out the window. He watched with a soft smile as the young mother played peek-a-boo with her toddler, who banged his chubby fists on the table and gurgled happily. John swallowed the thick lump forming up in his throat, and looked back outside the window again, pushing out mild thoughts of his own mother.

"'Lo, John."

John looked up to see Caroline--or, should he say, Beau--standing at the edge of the table, her brown mop top back in place. Paul had been right; even with the moustache, it was obvious that she was a woman up close. Her bottom lip was particularly full and pink, not thin and pale like a man's. Her nose was straight and pert and feminine, and her long eyelashes cast shadows into the hollows beneath her sea-green eyes. Her only saving grace in passing as a male was the fact that she was tall--roughly five foot nine inches, John guessed when he compared her to himself-- and lean, and didn't have the voluptuous hourglass figure of most women, but slight curves that were easily concealed beneath George's clothes. "Hey, Beau," he replied.

Caroline took a seat in front of him, scratching at the wig idly. "Seemed a little narky earlier," she said casually, fishing a cigarette out of her pocket. She patted her pockets for a lighter, and when she was unable to find one, John whipped out his and lit it. He held it out for her. "Ta," she thanked him as the butt turned red then gray and smoke began to emanate from it.

"I wasn't bein' narky," John said, putting the lighter away. "I was being interrogated and decried about my sexual morality."

Caroline laughed, her voice soft and husky from cigarette smoke. "I don't think I've ever heard the words 'sexual' and 'morality' used in the same sentence before."

A smile spread across John's face and he cocked his head in interest, watching Caroline blow her secondhand smoke towards the partially opened window, resting her chin in on one hand. He'd nearly forgotten--after this awkward morning--about Caroline's quick wit. "Well, obviously, such a thing exists to those soft-headed gits." He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and interlacing his fingers. "You want to know something?"

Caroline cast her gaze in his direction. "What?"

"Those four used to beg me for stories about girls I used to pick up at seedy bars," he said, holding a finger up poignantly and squinting one eye. Caroline raised her eyebrows, looking amused. "They did. It was like every time we were together, the first thing they wanted to hear, with _breathless _anticipation, was if I had shagged the bird I took home the night before. We'd all exchange stories and see who got the best bird."

"Boys," Caroline commented wryly.

"Aye, boys. And now all of a sudden, they think they're relationship gurus, telling me that I need to be more choosy and nice to the girls in pubs. Not just one-night stands, but girls I'll want to see again." John leaned back and threw up his hands in exasperation. "I mean, when did this happen?"

Caroline shrugged and took a long drag of her cigarette. A lock of red hair was attempting to make an escape from beneath her brown-wig. "Maybe they grew up."

"Grew up?"

"Well, from the way you acted with me and the things they said to you, it's obvious you spend--basically--every night in a club, scouring for girls to prey on. Am I right?" Caroline took John's sullen silence as a yes and barreled on. "So, maybe they had a taste of seedy one-night stands, and just grew up, grew out of the 'how many birds can I _shag_ in my lifetime?' phase and into the 'when am I going to find _her_' phase. While _you_ are stuck with Peter Pan Syndrome, still pub-crawling in search of girls who'll swoon over the fabulous Beatle, John Lennon."

John wasn't aware that his mouth had dropped open in disbelief during Caroline's speech, but he _was_ aware of the anger boiling away in his stomach. Who was _she_ to lecture _him_? She didn't even know him! He snapped his jaw shut before Caroline saw it hanging open.

"It's all inferiority complex, really," the redhead added as an afterthought, still watching the clouds roll by. "You still want as many night-befores as possible because the larger the number, the better you feel." She extinguished her cigarette in the ash tray, looking at him with soft green eyes.

"You are one of those night-befores, you know," John said hotly, crossing his arms. Caroline shrugged again, tracing a finger along the edge of the ashtray on the table. "You're the wrong sort of person to be giving me a load of psycho-babble."

"I know I'm a night-before. I'm not embarrassed about it, if that's what you're aiming for. I had fun with you. More than I've had in quite a long time."

"If you had fun, if you _liked _me, then why were you so adamant about leaving as quickly as possible this morning?" John asked, turning the tables his clever companion. Her flowing finger temporarily stopped, then resumed moving after a moment.

"Because I'm not looking for a morning-after. I'm perfectly content being a night-before."

"What if I am, for once in my life?" John asked, searching Caroline's face. She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, which looked as though they had been dipped in gold from the sunlight wafting through the train's windows. "What if I'm looking for a morning-after, and all I want is for you to treat you me like you did the night before?"

Caroline didn't say anything for a long moment, and the pair lapsed into silence. Then she said in a quiet voice, "The deal was Blackpool." She looked up at John, turquoise meeting hazel in an exchange of silent conflict. She felt the same thing that he did; he could see it in her eyes. But she still only said, "And nothing more."

The silence resumed, John dejectedly lighting another a cigarette, Caroline returning to watching the countryside pass. Then, out of the blue, she said,

"'Twist and Shout' is a good song."

John glanced at her, brows furrowing in confusion, as if he wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "What?" he couldn't help but laugh, cocking his head to one side.

"'Twist and Shout,'" Caroline repeated, laughing as well. The awkward atmosphere slowly began to evaporate as a pink blush crept over Caroline's cheeks. "It's--it's a good song."

"Yeah? What makes it so good?"

"Well, it's catchy, for one. They play it all the time in clubs, you know, no one ever gets tired of it." She reached for another cigarette. "The guitar is fan-bleeding-tastic--"

"Do you play?" John asked.

"Well, no, but anyone can tell when something sounds good and when it doesn't."

"True."

"What _I _really love," Caroline began, pointing at John with the cigarette between her fingers, "is your voice in it."

This comment took John by surprise. He, personally, had hated his voice in Twist and Shout. Even after sucking Zoobs all day, his voice had been weak before recording it, forcing him to push harder and scream through a sore throat just to get sound they wanted. He felt as though he let them down when he heard the playback, even as Paul commended his sound, listening to all the strained notes and screeches. He'd begged George Martin in a squeaky, faltering voice to let him do another take, but George said the sound was perfect and that John was being too critical of himself.

It didn't matter anyway, since the only a few hours after, John's voice had disappeared completely, leaving unable to make the slightest sound. John remembered Paul staying with him, fixing him cup after cup of chamomile tea, buying him more Zoobs, and holding all his precious cigarettes hostage. John, who already didn't like the sound of his own voice, was paralyzed with fear at the thought of his singing voice being ruined. Paul had reassured a panicking John repeatedly that his voice wouldn't be ruined, that it would return just as strong as ever.

"Really?" John asked Caroline. She nodded, leaning back in her chair.

"I like the gravelly, gritty tone. It's rough and dirty," she balled her hand into a fist for emphasis. "You know...sexy." When John grinned smugly at her, she glared. "Oh, don't get all arrogant about it, you prat. It's just a word."

"Mhm," John said with an arched eyebrow, immensely enjoying the flush still staining Caroline's face.

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**A little fluff is always nice...and so are reviews!**


	6. I Saw Her Standing There

**I'm so so so so so so sorry! I know it's been over a month, but with lacrosse season and God-knows what else, I've been really busy. Not to mention an intense case of writer's block. What's funny is that I was only blocked on this chapter here, but none of the other's so I've got a quarter of the story done but couldn't upload it, obviously, because I didn't even have the next chapter ready. But I won't bore you all with my tall tales. Thank you, as always, for your support, and here's Chapter Six: I Saw Her Standing There.**

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**I Saw Her Standing There (Well She Was Just Seventeen)**

July 25, 1964  
Birmingham

"Well, boys, I'm afraid we have a slight hitch in plans," Brian reported after talking heatedly to the receptionist of the hotel for a few minutes. The four Beatles were scattered across the lobby of the posh hotel, lounging upside down on the couches (Ringo), harassing the bellhops (John and Paul), flirting with the female concierge (George), and making themselves at home in general. The only one behaving themselves was "Beau," who was sitting on an armchair like an obedient student waiting for instructions, paying attention to Brian. "Ironically, many people attending your concert at the club tonight have booked rooms here for the night; therefore I could only get us two rooms."

"Well, that's not really a problem," Ringo intoned from where he was laying on he couch, his feet in the air and his head near the ground. "We'll just split it three and three."

"You seem to be forgetting that we have a _female presence_, Ringo." Brian whispered the last part as to not be overheard.

"Brian, we've gone over this before; you are not a female, no matter how pouf-like you act," John said snidely, after he and Paul had grown bored with the bellhop and wandered back over. A deep flush crept up Brian's neck and he tried to clear his throat.

"Yes, well--"

"That's not a very kind thing to say," Caroline snapped at John, crossing her arms, her eyes full of disapproval. Everyone, including John himself, stared at her incredulously, unable to believe that someone had _dared_ to reprimand John's callous comment. She didn't seem fazed at all, her jaw still set stubbornly. "You should apologise to him."

Despite her diction, this didn't seem at all to be a suggestion, but a command. John blinked at Caroline once, before glancing down at his shoes and muttering, "Sorry, Bri."

"Well, that's...that's quite alright, John," Brian looked almost hesitant, as he had never before been in a situation where he had accepted an apology from the sarcastic guitarist. He seemed impressed with Caroline. ("He likes her, does he?" he asked Ringo later. "I've never seen him take a command from anyone before, much less a woman.") "As I was saying before, we've only got two rooms, two beds each, so it'll be Ringo, George, and I in one room, and John, Paul, and Beau in the other." Brian bent close to Caroline and apologized, "I'm sorry, Miss Beauregard, I tried to get you you're own room, but--"

Caroline waved him off dismissively. "It's quite alright, Brian, don't worry." She gestured to Paul and John with a mischievous grin. "I can handle myself with these two rouges."

"Right then," Brian turned to address Paul at this juncture, "I'll expect _you_ to keep Lennon in line."

John let out a dramatic gasp, putting his hand over his heart as though it had shattered into a million pieces. "Brian, I have to say, I am deeply hurt by your insinuation that _I_ would do something lewd and lascivious to Beau here."

"Right," Brian said flatly, rolling his eyes.

"Besides, Paulie here," John gestured to Paul, whose head perked up suspiciously at the mention of his name, "is a male too, you know, as hard as that is to believe--"

"Piss off," Paul muttered, turning away irritably.

"--and who's to say that he won't be tempted as well?" John stood up abruptly, sticking his fist in the air like a commander rallying his troops. "This is an outrage! I won't stand for this!"

"Then sit down," was Brian's droll response. "And shut up." Caroline giggled. Brian seemed to gain some sort of confidence with John, now that he had Caroline's quick tongue to back him up. John just glared, sitting back down with his arms crossed and his lower lip sticking out in a sulk.

"It's favoritism, I tell you," he grumbled. He arched an eyebrow at Brian. "Injustice. I'm getting a lawyer."

"You can't afford one," Brian replied complacently, turning back to the others. "Anyroad, we need to be at the club for a sound check in just two hours. So just stay in your rooms, order some room service, and most importantly," he gave John a meaningful, reproaching glance, "_behave yourselves_. Let's not cause any trouble, pull any strokes, or do anything I'm going to be sorry for..."

* * *

"Two hours?" Paul groaned despairingly as he let his suitcase fall to the floor. He flopped down on one of the beds in the hotel room, his limbs falling about him on the bed loosely as though he didn't have the enthusiasm to control them. "What're we supposed to do for two hours?" he complained, his voice muffled by the comforter.

"Hoarder broom nervous and don't scull any smokes," John replied in his nonsense language as he and Caroline shuffled into the room, lugging their own bags behind them. John threw his duffel bag down carelessly and plopped down on a loveseat in the suite.

"Oh, right. Would you like some broom nervous, Caroline?" Paul offered, lifting his head up to give Caroline an honest smile.

Caroline, who had already begun to peel off her moustache and wig, shook her head quickly. "No, no, it's alright. I'm not really--" She was suddenly cut off by a low growling emanating from somewhere deep in her stomach. John and Paul both smirked as she finished lamely, "--hungry."

"I'll call broom nervous," John said decisively, reaching over to grab the hotel phone off the end table by the couch.

Paul watched curiously as Caroline set a small duffel bag down on her bed, reaching in and pulling out two pairs of jeans, a flimsy-looking blue dress, a white blouse, a yellow t-shirt, and the slinky dress and leather jacket she had been wearing the night she met Paul and John. "You sure travel light, there," he commented as she placed the various articles of clothing in the dresser beside her bed. The tops of Caroline's ears went slightly pink.

"Yeah, um..." Caroline shrugged feebly and scratched her hair nervously. "...I didn't have much to bring in the first place, really."

"No, not cake! Steak!" John was saying to the other end of the phone. "Y'know...moo!"

"So, you're from Liverpool, right?" Paul asked, hoping to change the conversation after sensing that he had embarrassed Caroline about her lack of possessions.

"Yeah. I was born there. Lived there 'til I was sixteen."

"Which was when?" Paul asked.

Caroline looked down at her feet, a sly grin spreading across her face. "Last year."

"Hold the phone..." Paul's eyebrows knitted together as he quickly did the math in his head. "That would make you...Jesus, you're only _seventeen_!? Caroline, I bought you a beer! I could've been arrested!"

"Well, that was a risk I was willing to take," Caroline replied, batting her eyelashes at the flabbergasted bassist. He shook his head in dismay but couldn't help but to smile at Caroline's cheek.

Well, that explained the Caroline's lack of sensual curves, not that John completely minded.

"I don't know what you're whingeing about Macca," was John's opinion when he wandered back over after doing his best to order room service. "I'm the one who's going to be charged with statutory rape."

"Aw, I wouldn't do that to you," Caroline teased him, grinning impishly.

"Eighteen is acceptable, but seventeen is pushing it," Paul said, his dark thick hair brushing his ears as he shook his head again.

John sat down on the bed next to Caroline and put an arm around her shoulders, winking at her flirtatiously and purring, "I've always liked younger women."

"Paedophile," Paul groused, crossing his arms. John just blew him a kiss.

"I'm not _that_ much younger," Caroline said in her defense.

"Well you certainly don't act it," Paul replied wryly, arching an eyebrow at the strawberry-haired girl. Caroline just shrugged, grin growing wider.

"So why'd you leave the Pool?" John asked amicably, offering Caroline a hit of the cigarette he had lit. She suddenly seemed nervous, tense, taking the cigarette with slow fingers. Both Paul and John sat forward, feeling as though John's question had perhaps nicked a sore spot. "I mean, you did leave when you were just sixteen."

Caroline looked off into space for a moment, before shrugging and replying simply, "I just did."

Paul and John exchanged curious glances before Paul ventured slowly, "That's it? You just left?"

"I wasn't getting any younger," Caroline said tensely, her words bitten off at the end. "Liverpool isn't exactly a cultural hotspot. Everyone gets out of there sometime. You lads did."

John carefully took the cigarette from her, noting the way she was crushing it between her thumb and index finger. Her knuckles were white and the muscles in her wrist were tense. She wasn't looking at him or Paul, but instead staring steadily at the lamp on the nightstand between the two beds. Something about Liverpool had set Caroline off; something or someone had ran her out of there, and John wanted to know what. Tension as thick as butter choked the air as the three lapsed into silence.

The phone that sat on the nightstand suddenly rang, shrilly, mercifully interrupting the conversation. John reached over Caroline to grab it, putting it to his ear and clearing his voice. "Hello," he said in his best posh accent. "You've reached the winter of our discontent." Paul sniggered, and the heaviness lightened.

A yammering could be heard on the other end and John covered the receiver with his hand, reporting to Paul, "It's Brian. He needs to see us."

"But we haven't even had the chance to get in trouble yet!"

"Some shite about the new album," John rolled his eyes, uncovering the receiver and quickly saying, "Of course I'm listening, Brian. Yeah, yeah, we'll be right over." He hung up the phone and stood up. "Come 'ead then, Paul. He wants to see us."

Paul handed Caroline a fiver on his way out. "Give that to broom nervous when they come, eh?"

* * *

"They can't _do_ that!" John stomped into the hotel room, gnashing his teeth and seething. "Two weeks, Paul! They want four more songs and the whole goddamn album recorded in two fucking weeks!" John stormed the length of the room, pacing and snorting like a bull preparing to rampage. Paul, the brave and dashing matador, held his hands up with his palms out in a submissive, calming gesture.

"I know, John," he breathed, "but the contract says--"

"The contract says 'Here's our bollocks and more importantly, our souls, they belong to you now.'" John sighed from behind his teeth, plopping down on the couch dejectedly and burying his face in his hands. "I'm just...I'm tired, Macca."

Paul sat down next to him, sliding his arm across his friend's back and giving his shoulder a squeeze. "I know you are, Johnny," he said soothingly. John made a small groaning noise. "I am too. But after this album, we'll have a break. You'll see."

"I hope so," John grumbled, dragging his hands down his face. He suddenly looked around like an African meerkat surveying the land. "Where'd Caroline run off to?"

"Looks like she took my fiver and split," Paul yawned, scrubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm.

"Lickety-split," John replied wittily, leaning back and closing his eyes. "She's prolly on a walk or in the bathroom."

"No, no..." Paul said quietly, his brow furrowing, hushing John with a wave of his hand. He cocked his head to the side, his ear perked in the air like a hunting dog waiting for a sound to be carried on the wind. He looked at John, who was watching him with a twisted smirk of amusement, an eyebrow raised. "Do you hear that?" he questioned in a shushed tone.

"No," John said lazily, suddenly feeling sleepy.

"_Listen!_" Paul hissed at him, punching his arm. John rolled his eyes but listened as well, leaning back and crossing his arms. To his surprise, he heard the whisper-soft singing floating above their heads. The sound woke him immediately. "It's coming from the balcony."

_"If I fell in love with you...would you promise to be true? And help me understand..."_

"That's Caroline," Paul whispered, creeping over to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony that overlooked the street. John followed him stealthily, the two of them tiptoeing like two children on Christmas morning. Paul reached to pull back the window curtain curiously, peeking his head from behind it. John put his hands on Paul's shoulders, pushing him down so that he could peer over his head.

_"If I give my heart to you, I must be sure from the very start...that you...would love me more than her..."_

And they saw her standing there, leaning coolly over the railing of the balcony, looking out over the streets of Birmingham with her chin propped up in one hand, a cigarette hanging idly from the other. The setting sun set her hair aflame, a mirror of the sky as it shimmered in red and orange and gold. Caroline herself was glowing in the hazy, golden light that kissed her skin. She took a drag from her cigarette between verses, her eyes looking distant and troubled.

_Sweet Jesus_, John thought to himself, mouth agape.

_"If I trust in you...oh, please...don't run and hide. If I love you too...oh, please...don't hurt my pride like her, 'cause I couldn't stand the pain...and I would be sad if our new love was in vain..."_

"Did you know she could sing?" John whispered down to Paul, whose mouth was also agape. Paul shook his head slowly, his thick dark hair brushing against John's chin. John suddenly decided that he didn't like the adoring look in Paul's eyes, the way he was staring at Caroline singing like she was some sort of goddess. He was thankful when he heard the knock at the door and a chirp of "Room service!" because it took Paul's attention away from the crooning redhead.

John also decided that he didn't like the dangerous stab of jealousy he felt go through his chest later that night at the show when he spotted Caroline in the front row, with her intensely red hair and the delectably flimsy blue dress she had pulled from her bag earlier, grinning up at them onstage. Initially, John was pleased that Caroline was there, until he followed her line of vision and saw that she was smiling coyly at Paul.

_Paul_. That stupid git.

John thought he would rip Paul's head off when he changed a bit of the lyrics to "I Saw Her Standing There," smirking a flirtatious smirk at Caroline all the while.

_"Well she was just seventeen;_  
_You know what I mean._  
_And with the way she looked, well I could hardly thi-ink._  
_But I could've gotten arrested, oohh,_  
_'Cause I bought that girl a drink!"_

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**Thanks for reading, now please, review! I need it like drugs.**


	7. I'm Happy Just To Dance With You

**I know it's been a long while since I updated, but I'm really starting to lose faith in my story when I compared it to the others on this site. I mean, I'm glad I could sort of pave the way for all these other fantastic Beatle fanfictions, but now I'm sort of falling into the shadows of much more talented writers and there's just no inspiration. But still I managed to pull together a nice little George-centered chapter that I hope you guys like.**

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**I'm Happy Just To Dance With You (I Don't Want To Kiss Or Hold Your Hand)**

July 25, 1964  
Birmingham

After the show ended and the Beatles (and, of course, Brian and Caroline) had headed back to the hotel, the ever-mischievous boys had taken it upon themselves to sneak back out. They used Caroline as a secret weapon, making her tell Brian they were all going to bed ("Oh, we're all dog-tired, really Brian, we're all going straight to sleep), for Brian would believe innocent, sweet Caroline in a second.

The Beatles and their plus one had stolen into the streets, carefully navigating their way to a new club, making sure that no one spotted them. Now, they sat in a circular booth in a semi-private corner of the club, drinking their bitter and joking with one another as they watched girls flutter by. (George had decided that it was high time they stopped chasing girls and allowed the girls to come to them.) The club was cozy, dimly lit, with cherry-wood furniture, burgundy cushions on the booths, and rich amber beer.

Caroline, of course, was not so satisfied with "bird-watching" and chatting aimlessly. Her toes tapped restlessly as she drank her beer, watching enviously as others danced to the rock n' roll. Finally, with her legs craving a good beat, she shot up without another word, grabbing the hand of a handsome young man who had walked by and dragging him onto the dance floor before the poor lad realized what was going on. Not that he seemed to mind, once he saw that a pretty young thing had pulled him away for a dance.

John observed her with amusement and perhaps another little hint of jealousy. He watched as Caroline began to dance with the young man who looked fairly ecstatic to be with such an enthralling girl. Unfortunately for him, he just wasn't able to keep up, because Caroline quickly grew tired of him and moved on. John contented himself with watching her over the rim of his beer as she went through boy after boy, growing bored with one to switch to another.

John wasn't the only one watching; Paul's eyes were also glued to Caroline, until finally (after she had gone through most of the unsuspecting boys on the floor, much to the displeasure of their girls and dates) he stood to his feet, hoping not to garner any questions from the others, and made a move for the dance floor.

"Where do you think _you're_ going, then?"

Paul froze in place, squeezing his eyes shut and furling his fingers, knowing that'd he'd been caught. He turned on his heel slowly to see John leaning back coolly at the booth, staring at Paul complacently. He batted his eyelashes innocently, but Paul knew that look. It was that '_I know _exactly_ where you're going, James Paul McCartney, I just want to hear you say it_.' Paul pursed his lips. "I was going to ask Caroline to dance," he admitted sheepishly.

John's voice was calm and smooth as honey, but his hazel eyes betrayed him; they were ablaze with smoldering anger. "Sure that's a good idea, son?" The question was simple enough, but beneath the honey in John's voice was quiet venom, a terseness that made Paul feel as though he were being warned.

The bassist bristled indignantly, raising his chin in the air with slight defiance. "I think it's a very famous idea, rather," he shot back. George and Ringo exchanged knowing glances that said, "_Oh brother, not this again_." They were used to seeing Paul and John contend for the same bird. "Besides," Paul continued testily, "You haven't got much room to say whom she dances with, seein' as _you_ aren't even dancing with her."

"Yeah, but _I'm_ the reason she's even here for you to think about dancin' with." John's eyes were slowly but surely getting darker and cloudier with rage.

"Yeah, well, I'm the reason you ever talked to her in the first damn place," Paul snapped.

John's eyes flashed and narrowed threateningly. "She's _mine_," he finally growled from behind gritted teeth.

The two singers looked like rival wolves about to battle over the carcass of a fallen deer, circling and sniffing each other, waiting for the other to make their move. Their eyes glowed in a moment of tense silence.

"Hey, lads!" a breathless voice greeted from behind Paul, breaking his staring contest with John. "Alright?"

"Speak of the devil," Ringo whispered to George. George just watched the exchange, his dark eyes following the three with interest. Caroline's cheeks were flushed from the vigor of her dancing, her red hair tousled sultrily from spinning and twirling. After a moment, he whispered back,

"Wanna see me piss those two off?"

Ringo baby blue eyes lit up. "Do it," he dared.

"Caroline," George said loudly, standing up before John or Paul--still caught off-guard by Caroline's sudden appearance--could get a word in edgewise. "Would you like to dance?" he drawled in his endearingly thick accent as he led her away from the table, and most importantly, the two wolves about to tear each other apart for her.

"Ta," she laughed, looking pleasantly surprised and perfectly oblivious.

George could feel the glares on his back, so he turned to give the pair a toothy smirk and a wink. He didn't like Caroline quite the way John and Paul did--sure, she was pretty and quite fun, but more in a friendly way--but that didn't make him any less proud of stealing her away from the singing duo, who usually got all the attention and ALL the birds.

"You seemed pretty hasty to pull me away, George," Caroline mused with a wry smile once they found an open spot on the dance floor. She arched one long, flaming eyebrow at him expectantly, implying that she wanted an explanation.

"Well, you were 'bout to walk right into John and Paul's vicious barney, you see," George told her, placing his long, calloused hands on her slight waist and beginning to sway back and forth. Caroline placed her arms around his neck. Elvis' husky drawl and sweet guitar filled the air, working as a melodic metronome that set the tempo for the pairs of hips that rocked slowly throughout the club. "I had to pull you away. S'bad manners, you know, to fight in front of a lady such as yourself."

Caroline chuckled lightly, grinning up at the dark-eyed guitarist. "I'm not much of a lady," she admitted good-naturedly, a mischievous smile playing across her lips. The pair moved fluidly about the dance floor, weaving slowly between the various couples around them. "But I appreciate your manners, George."

"Well, I've had lessons," George replied in an airy, nonchalant voice, grinning a charming grin. Caroline grinned back, and then rested her forehead against his collarbone as they moved back and forth slowly. Looking over her head, George could see Paul and John still seething at him. After a moment of swaying to the ballad, George blurted out, "They were fighting about you, you know."

Caroline looked up at this statement, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought everyone was alright with me traveling with you guys to Blackpool...?" Her sea-foam colored eyes were large with worry, as though she had committed some sort of terrible crime. "I mean, I already said, if you guys need me to leave, I don't want them to be fighting--"

"No, no, there's been a misunderstanding," George interrupted quickly before she could finish her guilty bluster. "They're not fighting _about_ you, they're fighting _over _you."

"Oh." It took Caroline a moment for the words to sink in and her mouth opened in realization. "_Oh_."

George nodded. "They were about to tear each other part to see who would dance with you."

Caroline glanced over his shoulder and saw that, indeed, John and Paul were taking turns glaring at each other, and then glaring at George. She giggled in George's ear, shaking her head. "Never thought I'd witness the day where I had two very famous men fighting over me."

"It's not so far fetched."

"I'm not exactly the type of girl to be on the arm of a rock star, you know?" Caroline shrugged casually. "Not the Brigitte Bardot, Marilyn Monroe type."

It was true, and George also preferred the Marilyn Monroe type, but Caroline was a special sort of girl and he felt compelled to tell her so. "You're a good type, Caroline, and it's better to have redhead who can dance than a blonde who can't spell." (This, to George at least, was a lie, but he wouldn't say a thing like that out loud.)

Caroline chuckled softly, putting her head back down on George's shoulder without another word. "Well, it's a good thing you're more into blondes who can't spell, or else I'd have you fighting over me too."

George grinned. It truly was no wonder why John and Paul liked this girl so much--she was much, _much_ smarter than other girls, and he knew the two songwriter's thrived of others intelligence. "Well, I'm happy just to dance with you."

"Just to dance with me?" Caroline asked with a wry smile. "That's all you want?"

"That's everything I need," George replied honestly.

"Well then," Caroline smiled, "When this dance is through, maybe you'll like me, too."

* * *

**I know it's short, but I felt bad for making the wait even longer. Please review!**


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